Sixteenth
by s'C'urvy 'K'at
Summary: Cynthia thought she'd be safe from the man in the coat as long as she stayed with Henry. She only left his side to try and find a way out of the Subway. Unfortunately, he was merely biding his time, waiting until she was alone.


This is my first crack at Silent Hill fiction. It turned out a lot longer than I had anticipated, and not as good as I had hoped.

I liked Cynthia. And I liked the idea of a potential Cynthia/Henry. Well, until about ten minutes later when I saw what happened to Cynthia. But hey, Silent Hill is all about angst and untimely character death. Besides, I think it's a little more complex than the possibility of Henry/Eileen (Hey, we survived, so let's hook up!)

Anyhow, just remember the golden rule: If you don't like this story, and feel that, for ever having written this, I deserve to die, or should kill myself, kindly spell my pen name right if you choose to flame me. It's just good etiquette. But if you like it, by all means, let me know as well. If this goes over well, I may try my hand at more SH 'fics.

Disclaimer: I don't own Silent Hill, I just felt like writing this.

_Enjoy the story._

She stepped into the room, looking around the tight scattered confines, searching for something, anything, that would help her get that train going. She wished that Henry would hurry up though. Having that..... boy-scout beating things' heads in with a sewer pipe then stomping them to death, gruesome as it was, was a lot more comforting than being all alone; especially after that man in the coat had attacked her; locked her in one of the subway cars so she couldn't get away from him.

She was an idiot. She should have stayed with Henry, hidden behind him while he hacked his way through all of the creatures, held close by him in hopes that maybe this dream would turn around and have a happy ending after all.

.....Dream?

What a fucking joke.

She could pray it was a dream all she wanted to, but she could still taste the acrid bite of the bile deep in her throat, and the sides of her hands were a bruised bloody mess, from pounding on the door of the subway car she was locked in, screaming herself hoarse for Henry to come help her; save her from that man in the coat

That was the other reason she had to hurry up and get the _Hell_ out of there. The man had come after her, referring to her as 'Temptation' as he slipped a large hunting knife out from his bloody trench coat.

She hadn't stuck around to find out what any of it meant, turning and running, trying to find some place to hide, wait for Henry to come back to her; save her from this lunatic.

Luckily he had come back, managed to unlock the subway car she was in, just as the door at the front of the car started to creak and open up. She hadn't bothered to stick around, practically sprinting over to Henry, despite her three-inch heels, throwing her arms around his neck, cursing him out in Spanish for having disappeared on her.

As they made their way through the adjoining cars, trying to get to the other side, she kept a tense look-out for the man in the coat, sticking close to Henry; so close that he damn near took her head off while taking a swing at the shambling, floating old man that had come _out_ of the damn _wall_ at them.

But despite her misgivings about being alone, when they made it to the other side, she slipped away from him, made her way back up to the main floor, and used her commuter ticket to get through the turnstiles that led to the King Street platform. She didn't want to be away from him, but at the same time, she wanted to _leave_. Maybe Henry could stand the idea of stomping some..... skinless dog's head in, but she wanted to get _out_.

Maybe she'd be able to find something in the small compartment; something that would get that stopped train to start up and just move a couple of feet. If worst came to worst, and she couldn't find anything, then at least they could try to break out the front window of that car, and make their way out on foot.

They _really_ had to get out of here. The longer the two of them stayed here, the worse she felt. It was like being watched, no matter where she went or what she did. Her skin was pricking, crawling, and she could feel the sweat running down the back of her neck, beading on her collarbone and sliding down between her breasts. She was scared shitless, hands trembling as she made her way around the small compartment, eyes lighting on different documents, and though her eyes scanned over them briefly, she found she couldn't concentrate on a single word, hands shaking, crumpling the paper in her grip.

C'mon Cynthia...... Think.

The train was missing a handle.

Handle.....

Handle.....

Han-

-Bingo!

Something caught her eye as she slowly made a complete circle in the middle of the room, looking around the desk space critically, looking for what could have been the missing piece for her. She reached across the cluttered desk, shoving aside stacks of blueprints and manilla envelopes, grabbing up the sleek black object, clammy hand clutching around it, eyes narrowing as she looked it over. There was a number etched on it, the same one as on that train.

Great. Wonderful. Things were finally starting to look up for them. All she had to do was get back, meet up with Henry, and they'd be out of here before they knew it. And Hell, Henry seemed like such a sweet-heart that he would probably turn down her 'offer' of a..... special favor.

Maybe she could at least take him out for a few drinks or something. After all, they'd been running around in these dark, cramped, rusty and bloody-looking corridors, dodging ghosts, and monsters, and God-only-knows what else. And he was pretty cute after all.....

Yeah. A few drinks would be great right now. The mild buzz she had had when she had stumbled her way down into the Subway station at two in the morning hoping to catch her train home had quickly evaporated when she had gotten a look at what was going on, and now all she really wanted was a spot at Southfield Bar, a few glasses of Scotch, a few shots, maybe a game of Pool, and a good-looking guy to share it with. Henry certainly fit the bill on that part.

She actually had to laugh at that one, a high, slightly frantic noise that bounced off the cramped walls back at her. What was she _thinking_? Henry probably wanted nothing to do with her, probably thought of her as some skanky, annoying tag-along that couldn't fend for herself; made him do all the work while she stumbled along behind him.

.....Hell, he was probably too nice to even be able to think anything like that. He didn't seem to mind. If he did, he wasn't saying anything. He just seemed heartened that he wasn't all alone.

Well, they had to get out of here first. Then she'd see if he'd take her up on those drinks.

It took a bit more searching, but after shoving some things away, hastily sweeping schedules and time-tables to the floor with a wide swipe of her arm, she found what she was looking for in the cluttered mess of an office; seeing the sleek panel, the rows of buttons and switches, and the long, bended neck on the microphone jutting from the side.

At least the power was on. She supposed she should be thankful for that small grace. At least she wouldn't need to worry about figuring out how to turn it on. The label tape that was used to mark most of the switches was old, peeling off, and she hardly had the patience to smooth her fingers over the grimy, sticky plastic to take a look at what each one said, trying to find one that would transmit to as much of the Station as possible, so she'd have the best chance to get him to hear her.

After a few terse minutes of looking, she found a segment of tape labeled '-ain Plat-'. Crossing her fingers she flicked the switch up, hearing the slight burst of static that meant she could send her message. Bending the neck of the microphone towards her, she leaned down slightly, glancing around.

"Henry, I found the exit. Come to the turnstile." She said coolly, trying to keep herself composed, and avoid letting her voice jump too much in her excitement at finally being out of there. She waited for a few seconds before clearing her throat and starting again "Henry, I found the exit. Come to the turnstile....."

She felt a little foolish about the way her voice jumped at the words _found_ and _exit_, but what did it matter? They were home free now. Once Henry got up here, she'd give him her commuter ticket if he needed to get through the turnstiles, and all they'd have to do is go down the escalator, and then they'd leave all of these nasty things behind.

But she shouldn't celebrate just yet. She didn't know if he had even heard her message. She didn't know if he was even still _alive_.

Chewing her lip nervously, her hand hovered over the transmitter, thumb against the switch to turn it off, when she heard a slight thump, and then the high, loud squeal of one of those dogs.

It was probably Henry. That meant he was close. He _had_ heard her!

"Hurry, hurry!" She added on as an afterthought, heart hammering in her throat, thumping in her ears as she heard the steps coming closer, off to the right of the booth she was in.

She looked up, grin splitting her face from ear to ear as she brought her hand up to wave to Henry, show him the handle she'd found-

But the smile froze, died on her lips and turned into a look of horror, though a smile was returned softly by the man that stared at her from the other side of the glass, lips and pale skin dappled with flecks of blood, his long blonde hair and drab overcoat similarly stained.

She stared, unable to react at first, as his smile grew broader, wider, and he brought the knife up, long, large blade slick and red, some running and dribbling off of the ridged, serrated edge.

Tearing her eyes away, she grabbed at the microphone, breathing raggedly, her hand around the flexible neck, gripping it so hard that her knuckles were white, and the veins on the backs of her hands had poked up against the skin slightly.

"It's him!" She shrieked frantically, hazel eyes wildly focused on him out of the corner of her eyes, seeing him just standing there, watching. "He's coming! Hen-" But she was cut off as the power on the console suddenly shorted out, nearly deafening her with a loud, high squeal of feedback.

Looking down at it in shock, she glanced back up, seeing the man in the coat continue to stare at her with his soft, gentle smile as he started towards the turnstile, watching her through the window the whole time. Almost automatically, not even thinking about it, she reached down, tucking the handle piece into her skirt against her hip, resting snugly between her skin and the brightly colored fabric. She couldn't afford to lose it, not now.....

She staggered back, adrenaline hitting her like a punch to the gut, and she turned, rushing to the door and pulling it open, seeing him come around to the other side of the turnstile, the placating smile still etched on his face. She ran for the escalator which would take her down to the King Street platform, reaching into her purse as she did so, grabbing for her Mace. She didn't have any real weapon with her, but at the least, maybe she could at least slow him down, outrun him until she found Henry, and then maybe they could-

A rough hand clamped down on her shoulder just as her feet hit the steps, fingers digging into the skin, bunching the thin material of her shirt. She was jerked off her feet, heels skidding on the tile, sliding out from under her as she kicked and struggled to get out of his grip, to get loose and _sprint_ down the steps to somewhere that she could run, could _hide_-

-But he had her in a death grip, pulling her back, her open purse up-ending as she struggled, spilling everything out, her travel-size bottle of perfume shattering on the tile, shoes skidding in the puddle, slipping on cosmetics as she was being dragged, toppling backwards-

-Right onto the knife.

The blade slid into her back easily, below her ribs, to the right of her spine, the blade feeling hot; burning as the pain started to register after a few seconds, leaving her gasping raggedly at the perfume-heavy air, one hand clawing at the wrist that he was holding her with, the other cocked up, frozen uselessly, the Mace dropping numbly from her fingers, clattering; bouncing to the ground, before catching on the steps, slowly descending downward into the darkened, sloping corridor until it was out of her sight.

She didn't realize that she had been holding her breath until her throat choked up a pained, broken _screech_ which put all of the monsters they had encountered to shame.

But the man did nothing more; letting go of her shoulder, that hand sliding down across her chest and upper arms, pulling her tight against his chest, while the hand on the knife came up, caressing her cheek, running tenderly over her face, smearing it with blood.

He nuzzled in close against her neck, lips brushing over the skin, his hair, matted and stringy with blood, rubbing against her jaw.

"I'm sorry." He murmured, in a voice that was decidedly _not_, despite the soft tone of voice he used, as the pads of his fingers teased across her lips tugging the lower one down slightly as they passed along their erratic trail, down to her left breast, tugging the material of her shirt down.

She winced, her frozen nerve endings seeming to kick back into action as the thin gauzy material tore away under his ministrations, exposing the top of her left breast, which he ran his rough, calloused fingers over gently, almost reverently.

Bad enough he was going to kill her, but this....._ this_.....

She struggled, ineffectively against his crushing grip, beating uselessly against him with her fists, which were pinned down against her sides. He barely even seemed to notice, just continuing to touch, to caress.....

Not being able to do much else in her state, she gasped for air, nearly choking on the heavy, disgusting mix of perfume and blood, and just shrieked for Henry as loudly as she possibly could, tears pricking at her eyes and sliding down her cheeks.

His hand left her breast after another caress, though she felt a slight shift in the knife sticking into her back as he gripped it tightly, as if to pull it out.

But instead of just jerking it out, he spun quickly towards the door of the office she had just been in, dropping his shoulder and shoving her, _pushing_ her off the blade with a wet, disgusting sound, sending her careening forward off balance, crashing heavily into the door, cheek slamming against the handle.

It gave under her weight, and she crashed to the ground among the documents and waste paper she had shoved around in her haste to find the train handle, her head glancing off of the hard tile floor, knocking a pained grunt from her.

She gritted her teeth and tried to sit up, but merely flopped back like a dying fish, hand going to her back as pain lanced through it, from the deep stab wound, which was violently spewing blood out onto the floor, cascading over her searching fingers, pooling into her palm, before spilling out between her fingers.

Trying again, she rolled onto her left side, gritting her teeth so hard she was sure she could _hear_ them crack as she reached for the edge of the table, bloody hands slipping a bit as she tried to gain some purchase, to get some leverage to pull herself up.

It was funny. It didn't actually _hurt _as much as she thought it would. But she could feel the blood sliding down her back, soaking her skirt, the fabric sticking, clinging wetly to her as the blood kept going, running down the back of her leg. It felt like a lot of blood, and her stomach seemed to squirm a bit at the thought of dying; dying at the hands of some perverted, nameless psycho.

She reached down, grabbing the handle from where it was tucked into her skirt, and dropped it, kicking it back into the corner. No matter what happened, she wasn't going to let him take away their one ticket out of this Hell-hole.

She was trapped, she knew it. As she looked around the cramped space fearfully, she saw the bright red stains on the floor, on the table where she had gripped it to pull herself up, something in the back of her mind wildly screaming that it was her own blood. It still wasn't clicking. It all seemed so surreal right now, like it was happening to somebody else.

The man was still smiling softly at her, as he pushed the door completely open, slowly making his way toward her, boxing her into the corner, knife gripped in his right hand, blood, _her_ blood, dripping off of the tip onto the floor.

"What do you want from me?!" She hissed, right hand sliding backwards over the table she was supporting herself on, groping for something, anything she could possibly use as a weapon. She was sure she had seen an Exacto knife or something laying on the table when she had been frantically searching for the handle.

When there was less than a foot of space between them, the man stopped, looking her over, his grin becoming happier, broader, an air of wistfulness seeming to overcome him.

"I'm going to bring my mother back to me. I will free her from the shackles of this corrupt world and-"

He kept on talking, but she had heard enough, tuned him out, keeping her eyes on him, though her focus was completely on trying to find something to stab into his goddamn jugular.

Lunatic. Goddamn _mother fucking_ lunatic.

"-Complete the Twenty One Sacraments, and perform the ritual of the Holy Assumption-"

Her fingers closed around something long and thin, her index finger trailing across it until it pricked at the blade at the end of it, a surge of hope running through her.

There was probably no hope for her now, but at least she wouldn't have to go alone.....

"-In the Holy Scripture-"

With a shout of rage, she lunged forward, throwing herself against him, arm shooting forward, blade aimed at his throat. It struck dead on, at an angle just to the left of his Adam's Apple-

-But then everything just seemed to stop, as they crashed to the ground, the man toppling her over, pinning her to the ground, a new wave of pain rushing through her lower back as she came down at a bad angle, something digging into her skin just above the wound.

She stared up at him, eyes wide, mouth open to say something, as he reached up, grabbing her wrist tightly, and slowly, slowly eased his head back, the blade sliding back out from his flesh.

There was no blood.

There was no _blood_.

"Look at you," he murmured gently, back of his hand running across her cheek, knuckles grazing over her nose, bloody blade passing dangerously close to her eyes, though she didn't blink, couldn't tear her gaze away from him. "So beautiful, charming your way through situations, enticing men in order to get your way. You make men want you. _I_ wantyou."

Psycho...... You freaking, disgusting Psy-

"And that is why you must die, my dear. For me to be with my mother again, it has to be done. You probably don't understand-"

No. No she didn't. But she understood all too well what it meant to her as the blade sank into her chest, sliding easily between two of her ribs, only stopping when the hilt of the blade pressed flush to her skin.

His hands were on her again, sliding over her slick, bloodied skin with the same gentle caress as before. She could feel his hands snaking up under her skirt, hiking up the once brightly colored garment, fingers slipping a little in the blood.

The nausea hit her again; harder than before. Her mind was reeling. She couldn't fathom any of what was going on. By all means, stabbing him in the throat should have at least staggered him. But he wasn't even bleeding from it, wasn't even fazed by it. He was ranting about bringing his mother back, how she needed to _die_ in order for him to do so, how she had to die because he _wanted_ her. Bad enough she was going to die, but this, _this_-

Gunshots.

She blinked, swallowing heavily as a small, fleeting jolt of hope slithered through her mind.

It was Henry! It had to be! He was coming to..... to.....

No. There was no way he could save her now.

The man in the coat seemed to hear it to, his smile faltering for the first time, as his hands slid down, out from under her skirt. Hastily, he curled his fingers around the hilt of the knife, savagely jerking it free, Cynthia's body, arching up as the pain lanced through her again, worse than before. She could feel the blood as it welled up to the surface, surging out over her side, piddling onto the ground, joining the blood already there.

How much? How much blood did she still have to lose? How much time before she bled out? Before Henry arrived?

She had to hold on; at least a little bit longer. The shots sounded closer now; louder. He was coming for her, but she had to hold on just a little bit longer. Hold on just long enough that she wouldn't have to die alone; wouldn't have to die pressed beneath this psycho with a severe Mother complex.

He brought the blade to her left breast, blood dripping down onto it from the knife, trailing slowly down the curve of it, onto her sternum, soaking into her bra. She was expecting another stab, one to finish her off.

But instead he brought it straight across her skin in a small vertical cut. Lifting it from the skin, he brought it down again in another deliberate cut, a sloping, curling one.

Another vertical cut.

What was he doing?

A sloping cut, trailing into a horizontal swipe.

Was he carving his name in her? Marking her as a 'trophy' of his?

A final vertical cut.

That done, he put the knife away, letting her go and crawling backwards off of her, pausing once to plant a small kiss to the corner of her mouth, as if _thanking_ her for being his victim.

She felt tired, dizzy, eyes struggling to stay open as she watched him retreat from the room, pulling the door shut behind him. She heard a slight scuffling, and then nothing. She was finally left alone in the silence.

Left alone to die.

Where was he going? Was his job done, or was he going after Henry next? Had he caused all of this? Managed to twist everything around, just to draw her into this so he could slaughter her, and leave her to die in this cramped little office, blood ebbing out all over the things she had thrown onto the ground in her haste to find what they needed to escape.

Escape.....

At least Henry would still have a chance.....

.....If the man in the coat weren't waiting for him.

She wanted to pull herself up again, get out there to make sure the man was gone, that Henry wouldn't be walking into a trap. She wanted to scream out a warning, but her body felt so heavy now, like lead, weighting her down, keeping her anchored to the ground, refusing to let her up. And it was getting harder and harder to breath. She was taking great, heaving, painful gulps, but it still felt like nothing was going in, like something were pressing down on her chest, trying to force the air from her lungs as quickly as it came in.

Her left lung was probably punctured, maybe that's why it was so hard to breathe. Or maybe it was just.....

Her eyes were unfocused and clouded with tears, staring emptily towards the door, things starting to seem fuzzy, muddled around the edges of her vision.

Please Henry..... Please.....

That's when she heard it. A clank of metal, footsteps coming to an abrupt halt, heavy breathing, as if someone were gasping for air.

She tried to call out to him, but the words died in her throat, producing little more than a wheezing little squeak.

But that attempt seemed enough, as the footsteps came closer, and the door creaked as it eased open, Henry peering in warily, handgun clenched tightly in his left hand.

His eyes flew open wide when he saw her, saw the state of the room, saw the _blood_, and he rushed over to her kneeling down, all the color seeming to have drained from his face.

"Are you okay?" He managed to choke out in shock, blinking as he reached out, one hand curling up under her neck, the other still gripping the hand gun.

Stupid question.

She couldn't help the tiny wavering smile that his presence brought. She knew it wouldn't be much longer now, but at least she wasn't alone. At least Henry had come to her before it was too late.

"It's just..... a dream, right?" She asked rhetorically, fighting to give him a smile, but she could feel the tears as they spilled out onto her cheeks, heard her voice hitch sharply as she fought to keep her composure. She needed to tell him, to warn him about the man in the coat that had done this to her. She needed to tell him about the train handle she had found, which she had attempted to stash away. Even now she could see it, only a few feet away.

But instead of uttering anything profound, anything worthwhile, she fought to take another gulp of air, it heavy and rancid with blood, _her_ blood, mingling with the overpowering smell of perfume from outside the office.

"I think..... I drank too much last night....."

If she had never been to that party, never had that many drinks, she probably would never have ended up down here. She wouldn't have ended up staggering down into the Subway at two in the morning, and would have at least _noticed_ something was wrong before she went too far, and found she couldn't find a way out.

And all _this_ would have probably never happened.

And the way he was looking down at her, fighting tears of his own as he looked her over, knowing there was no way to do anything to help her, it just made it all hurt worse. They weren't friends. Hell, she didn't know much of anything about him, save for the fact that his first name was Henry. But she really wouldn't have minded the chance to get to know him better.....

She fought to bring her hand up, finding the side of his face, palm to his rough cheek, bloody fingers carding through his sandy brown hair. She wanted to kiss him, to thank him for all he'd done for her, trying to keep her safe. It wasn't his fault she had ended up like this. It just wasn't fair. She wanted some time to get to know him better, know more about him besides the fact he was a good-looking, sweet-heart named Henry.

But she wouldn't have that time now.....

".....I never got to do that....."special favor" for you....." She trailed off with a wheezing, wet hack, blood spraying from her lips, dappling Henry's face, red spackling across his white shirt, mixing with the dirt and sweat already there. His hand came up against the hand caressing his cheek, squeezing gently, comfortingly, as he tried to return her weak smile, shaking his head slowly as he fought his own tears.

His hand was smooth on hers, almost uncomfortably warm, but he just looked at her silently, blinking, trying to keep the tears at bay.

She was so cold, so tired. The weight against her chest seemed to be pushing down more and more, her vision weak and gray. She was trying to focus on Henry, focus on that gorgeous, comforting face, but no matter how hard she stared at him, she couldn't actually _see_ him.

She shuddered, her whole body jerking, back arching up off the ground, legs kicking as her head tipped back, a final, ragged gasp loudly being sucked into her lungs as she stilled from her death throe.

".....I ..... I feel like I'm dying....." She managed to gasp, staring blankly, wild-eyed, though she couldn't see him any more, couldn't feel him any more. Her mouth gaped open uselessly a few times, trying to muster up the strength to take another breath, but it didn't happen. She couldn't even smell the metallic bite of her own blood. Everything seemed so distant, far away.

It was as if someone had tied her down in an airtight box, and was shutting the lights off on her, leaving her alone and in the dark forever. She couldn't..... she wouldn't.....

She still had to tell him, about the handle, about the man..... About wanting to get to know him better.....

But she just needed a little more time.....

Just one more minute.....

.....Please?

But her silent, inward pleas went unanswered.

"It's okay..... it's just a dream....."

His uncertain, forced words soothed her, reached out to her faintly, as the encroaching blackness finally overcame her, hazel eyes still focused widely, blankly at Henry, cooling hand still pressed against his cheek, clutched in his much warmer hand.

End.

As for the very slight bit of Walter/Cynthia, I figured, since she was the 'Temptation' murder, he'd probably have some 'lustful' intentions toward her. Gads.


End file.
